


afraid to get too close

by finalizer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War, the elevator scene: extended edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6766648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He kisses him like they hadn’t seen each other for a hundred years, and it’s jarring that it’s true; painfully and heart shatteringly literal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	afraid to get too close

**Author's Note:**

> this scene was such a _now kiss_ moment  
>  so i'm fixing the lack of kisses
> 
> translation into 中文 available: [afraid to get too close不敢靠近](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6869074) by [blakjc](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blakjc/pseuds/blakjc)

The metal grinds beneath their boots, snow and ice crunching: crushed and splintered. It’s fitting. The elevator jolts as it descends, scraping against the frosted steel walls as it goes _—_  rusted and untouched for decades.

It should feel wrong, and partly it does: the overwhelming sensation of the four walls closing in, coated in unforgiving ice. It should shower them both in sickening reminders.

Steve looks up at Bucky and meets his eyes _—_  steely, determined. He wonders if Bucky’s affected by their surroundings. The frost, the encompassing steel, the very location of the bunker they’re entering. He doubts Bucky has ever wanted to return to the place.

It’s stupid to deliberate. He’s obviously affected, not that he lets it show.

Steve realizes that Bucky’s no longer as easy to read. He never was, not especially, but his new face is a mask: metaphorical perhaps, but just as opaque as the one he wore atop the roof when he shot  _—_

No. _That_ was the Solider. The Solider shot Fury; was commanded to do it. _This_ is Bucky.

Steve licks his lips. They’re dry and chapped from the cold.

“Buck?”

He wants to shut his thoughts down, so he talks. Mind on the mission, eyes on the target, keep Bucky safe, against all odds.

“You okay?” he asks, realizing how goddamn pathetic it sounds the moment the words leave his throat. But he needs to know Bucky’s okay, that all of this isn’t too much.

Of course it’s too much, but they have no choice. Bucky’s never had a choice.

“M’fine.”

Then again, they hadn’t been given the chance to be _fine_ , to take a breath, count to ten and make up for the years they’d been robbed of. Steve hadn’t been given the opportunity to wrap Bucky in his arms and promise he would keep him safe, assure him that he wasn’t guilty of anything the Soldier was forced to do. He would keep repeating it until Bucky believed him. And he would beg Bucky’s forgiveness for letting him fall.

“I’m fine, Steve, you can stop staring.”

Steve finds himself cracking a smile at that, how carefree it sounds.

“How could I not? You’re here.”

Two words, too simple. Steve hopes the message gets across, that he doesn’t just mean _here_ here, in the rickety elevator heading towards certain danger.

“You’re you,” he adds, when Bucky’s expression clouds over.

The response is immediate, cutting and self-deprecating. “That’s debatable.”

“No _—_  None of them know you. They don’t want to listen, they don’t want to talk; just bring you in and lock you in a cell. They don’t know you. _I_ do. And it’s _you_ I see standing right in front of me. I’m not gonna let anyone get between that.”

Bucky almost fidgets under the intensity of Steve’s gaze (he’s trying to commit this new Bucky to memory: every new line, each abrasion). The metal arm twitches at his side.

When he finally speaks, it’s through a crooked smile.

“Sap.”

Steve knows it’s a fault of his: sentimentality. Often too disarming for the business he’s found himself in. But it makes it all worthwhile, Bucky standing a foot away, alive and real and _right there_.

They aren’t okay. Bucky isn’t okay. They’re short on resources, on guidebooks for dealing with these situations: _what to do when the entire world is after your until-recently-deceased best friend and you’re the only one who knows the truth and wants to protect him no matter the sacrifices you make along the way_. It’s not exactly a common enough problem.

Steve asks again, because he needs the reassurance, loud and clear.

“You up for this?”

“I don’t see another way.”

“Buck,” he repeats _—_  solemnly, desperately, “are _you_ ready for this?”

“Oh, shut up already,” Bucky snaps. It’s impatient, impulsive, it’s hot amidst the freezing walls, and before Steve calculates a response, Bucky’s twisting his human hand into the straps of Steve’s uniform and hauling himself against Steve’s chest.

He kisses him like they hadn’t seen each other for a hundred years, and it’s jarring that it’s _true_ ; painfully and heart shatteringly literal. Steve’s free hand flits up to cup Bucky’s jaw, draw him closer and pour every long-harbored emotion out into the open.

They break apart when the elevator shudders and screeches to a halt. The quiet settles back in, and with it the irrepressible cold.

Bucky takes a definite step back and drops his arms to the gun at his side; flicks off the safety and wraps his metal fingers over the trigger. It’s a horrid transformation, as any and all empathy seeps from him and dissipates into nonexistence.

Steve half expects Bucky’s eyes to be blank, black and empty, when he looks up. Steve’s throat closes up as he realizes just how much he doesn’t want this moment to fade away. Screw the consequences. Screw whatever is waiting for them on the other side of the steel door.

But Bucky glances up and it’s still him: eyes a cold, bright blue. He looks happier than Steve's seen him since first encounter on the causeway _—_  and it’s odd, how he wears happiness now. Like he doesn’t quite know how to form a smile, how to let himself penetrate the mask he’s used to wearing.

“We’ll be alright,” Bucky says, and Steve’s surprised at how certain he makes it sound _—_  like he’s trying to comfort Steve, but himself as well. The words sound strange in his voice, as if he’s forgotten what they mean, or how to convey reassurance altogether; Steve doubts he’s had a chance to practice.

But it’s Bucky, so it works. Steve curls his fingers around his own weapon, shield in place on his back, and meets Bucky’s eyes again.

“You got this, Stevie.”

And it’s enough to persuade him. He’s going to be alright, he and Bucky both. Steve knows he’s lost enough, renounced enough to allow himself this one indulgence.

The doors creak as they slide open and Bucky snaps to attention, gun raised and aimed. Steve shadows him, watching Bucky’s blind spots, treading out behind him.

He knows Bucky’s more than capable of taking care of himself, but he’ll be damned if he lets any more harm come his way. It’s his turn to have Bucky’s back.

Bucky steps into the corridor.

Steve follows.

 

 


End file.
